


Promises Kept

by c4s



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Canon Compliant, Car Sex, Dean has a praise kink, Hand Job, I'm really sorry, Impala Sex, M/M, Praise Kink, Quote: But still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester., Ride em Cowboy, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Supernatural 15X3, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, cowgirl?, idk - Freeform, idk i still don't know what i'm doing, now that i'm not sorry about, please let me know if anything needs to be fixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28403856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c4s/pseuds/c4s
Summary: "The end of the world is a terrifying thing for Dean. Life as a hunter never fails to remind you that life is fleeting, but the literal apocalypse is more than just a daunting task. Days, hours, weeks—who knew when it could happen?  Three humans and an angel up against the host of heaven? The pair of them would probably be dead by the end of the year, along with the rest of the world, so why let shame keep him from this?  If it really was all going to go to shit, Dean was at least going to enjoy it. It didn’t matter that Castiel would never know what it felt like to have his stomach turn in knots at the sights of him or crave the lingering warmth of his touch. The only thing that mattered was that Dean made a promise to Castiel, and he was going to fulfil that promise one way or another."Based on the scene where Dean takes Cas to a brothel and things don't go to plan after he promises he won't let Cas die a virgin.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 109





	Promises Kept

**Author's Note:**

> o heyo, I'm back again with another manic 4 a.m. fic because who needs sleep when you have smut to try to write.  
> as always, constructive crit is 10000% welcome. I'm still rusty in my writing skills and am too unpredictable for a beta sooooo.....
> 
> anywho, yes, I had to make that joke. Yes, I needed to use that line. No, those are two things you can't change my mind about 
> 
> enjoy :)

When Dean hears Chastity scream, the sight he finds as he races to the back of the building is not something he was prepared for. There’s Chastity-- screaming and throwing things at Cas. And then there’s Cas-- trenchcoat hanging off his shoulders, hair tousled in all directions, blue eyes wide and mouth agape in confusion at the commotion he’s caused. As it turns out, Castiel had believed this to be the prime time to inform Chastity that it wasn’t her fault her father abandoned her, that he had just hated his job. It’s a quick, fleeting thought, but it’s there nonetheless.

_Damn, that’s hot._

The next moments move fast as security steps through the hallways entrance with looks of “not thrilled” on their faces. Dean had grabbed Castiel’s arm and ran, his grip loosening until he pulls the angel through the building by the hand. For a second Dean panics because there is something oddly natural about the feeling of their fingers wrapped around each other. He’s suddenly aware of the tightness in his chest, the shame that comes with it, and sees an excuse to pull his away as he pushes Cas through the open exit door.

And then he’s laughing. A warm, deep-bellied laugh takes over Dean as he leans over because that has to be the most ridiculous thing to have happened to him in a minute. The tightness and shame are gone, buried under a repeating mantra of _it’s just the adrenaline rush, I didn’t mean it, it’s just the adrenaline rush, I didn’t mean it, it’s just the adrenaline rush_. Of course he’s not attracted to Castiel—to think otherwise was absurd. Right?

“What’s so funny?” Cas deadpans, woefully unaware of the hilarity of the situation, and Dean nearly spits as he bursts out laughing again. Cas simply stares at him quizzically.

Dean grins, placing his arm around Cas’ shoulder. The “Cool, calm, and collected Dean” mask fits like a glove. “Whew, huh nothing,” he answers. The truth is too complicated to explain anyways, and Cas still probably wouldn’t understand why it was funny. Hell, he didn’t even entirely understand it either. “It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed that hard.” He pats his shoulder as they get in the Impala and chuckles again. “it’s been more than a long time,” Dean sighs, “years.”

His face falls for a moment and he pauses, the car door resting against his leg. It felt like they’d been dealt nothing but constant hardballs. Their chances to relax and just _exist_ as something other than apocalypse stoppers had become fewer and farther between. To take time off for personal enjoyment is selfish when the world is ending. But what about when the world is always ending? Castiel was always trying to help them stop the apocalypse—the guy deserved a break, and Dean sure as hell did too. He’d earned a good laugh.

Ducking into the car, Dean closes the door and relaxes back into the driver’s seat. “So, uh… want to try again? Maybe not psychologically scar her this time?” he jokes, laughing once again.

Castiel looks pensive. He stares out the window to the alleyway ahead, thinking to himself for a moment before responding. “I was thinking the experience might be more enjoyable with a partner I had already established a strong friendship with. That would allow me to have already developed adequate social skills to make the experience less “psychologically scarring,” as you say,” he says. Cas holds up his air quotes, but continues to look straight ahead. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say he saw Castiel blushing in the dim yellow glow of broken alleyway lights .

The panic starts to resurface because there’s a part of him that wants to sign up first on the volunteer list, and Dean tries to play it cool, hoping that Castiel can’t hear the strain in his voice as his throat tightens just the slightest bit. “Well, your pools a little limited there, buddy. We’re don’t exactly… have a menagerie of friendlies to pick from.” It was the truth. While the Winchesters had few friends, Castiel likely had even fewer. Making enemies was easier than making friends as an angel. Narrow it to anyone he’s close to? Well, that leaves fewer friends than Cas has fingers on one hand.

Cas turns away from Dean, gazing at the reflection in the passenger side mirror. “Dean.” It’s quiet and dry, and it sends a chill down Dean’s spine. Surely, Cas doesn’t mean him. _That’d be ridiculous. I’m just imagining things. Cas is just using the wrong communication cues. He doesn’t want me like that. This is just a misunder—_

Castiel turns to Dean, staring at him with blinding blue eyes. “You said you wouldn’t let me die a virgin,” he says with a confidence that makes Dean’s heart stop. Or at least, it feels like it does. The tightness in his chest returns, and this time there is no brothel-chase fueled adrenaline rush to blame it on. The air in the Impala suddenly feels suffocating, and Dean doesn’t know if he wants to run or reach across the inches wide gap between their seats. His heart is pounding in his chest as he struggles to find the words to reply. He knows this is just a pastime, an ‘end-of-the-world’ bucketlist tick, but he’ll let himself be selfish and take whatever version of affection Castiel is willing to give.

The right words never come to him, so he instead slowly stretches his fingers out across the fabric of the middle seat towards Castiel’s hand. He stops just an inch away, praying one last time that he’s not hallucinating, and praying that Castiel is brave enough to move the rest of the way. The sigh of relief that escapes him when their fingers meet for the second time that night removes every ounce of tightness from Dean’s chest. Merely a millisecond passes before the rest of their bodies close the gap. Fight-calloused hands tear away clothing—first jackets and neckties, then button-ups and t-shirts, all thrown to the floor. Their first kiss is aggressive and desperate, teeth bumping against each other and tugging at bottom lips. It’s magnetic; each time one pulls away for air, a hand reaches out to pull them back in again. One would never know that Cas was making it up as he went along. It came so easily, touching Dean. After all, he’d built this body from scratch. He’d reorganized neutrons and electrons to rebuild the atoms that made the elemental building blocks of every cell in Dean’s body. He’d woven every inch of skin from the remnants of distant supernovas, and built bones from the ashes of every demon he smote raising Dean from hell. Dean may never truly understand the affection and care that went into recreating his personal favorite of God’s masterpieces, but that didn’t mean Castiel wouldn’t do his damndest to make him understand. The trope of the “First time” was something deemed important to humans for some reason (though he never really understood the phenomena), mean to be shared with someone close to you. The incident with Chastity was merely the “icing on top of the cake”— his understanding of human interaction was still too limited to rely on a stranger for such a human milestone.

He pulls away from Dean far enough to properly look at him. There’s just enough light from the streetlamp to illuminate the freckles dusted across Dean’s cheekbones and the curvature of his muscles. Cas’ hands have a mind of their own, tentatively wandering across a year’s worth of new scars skin that was once nearly whole again. The touch is nearly more intimate than the fact that both Dean and Castiel are half-naked and sprawled across the front seat of the Impala, attempting to focus on anything but the increasing strain in their pants.

The end of the world is a terrifying thing for Dean. Life as a hunter never fails to remind you that life is fleeting, but the literal apocalypse is more than just a daunting task. Days, hours, weeks—who knew when it could happen? Three humans and an angel up against the host of heaven? The pair of them would probably be dead by the end of the year, along with the rest of the world, so why let shame keep him from this? If it really was all going to go to shit, Dean was at least going to enjoy it. It didn’t matter that Castiel would never know what it felt like to have his stomach turn in knots at the sights of him or crave the lingering warmth of his touch. The only thing that mattered was that Dean made a promise to Castiel, and he was going to fulfil that promise one way or another.

Castiel’s back thuds as Dean pushes him back against the passenger door, attacking his neck with a fervor. Purple and red marks color Cas’ neck as Dean works his way around it. He bites the tender spots along his collarbone and under his chin, pressing hard kisses against the angry skin before moving to an unclaimed section of skin. As he works, strong hands grip Dean’s hips and lift him onto Cas’ lap. Dean straddles his thigh and tries his best not to moan against him when he feels something press against his knee. He knows damn well what that is, and it’s not Cas’ angel blade. _Well, not_ that _one, at least._ Dean is too lost in thought to notice Castiel’s hands slipping under the waist of his jeans and under the fabric of his boxers. How long has it been since he’s had his ass grabbed? Apparently too long, because Cas squeezes and Dean leans forward into Cas, pressing his knee harder against the growing bulge pressing against him. A warm laugh escapes Cas as he squeezes once more. “You like it when I grab your ass like that?”

 _Hot damn._ Dean gulps. _When did he learn to talk like this?_ There isn’t more time to dwell on it as Cas’ hands are moving around to the front of his pants, popping open the button and undoing the zipper, all while Dean just _stops_ because Castiel, Angel of the Lord is working his pants down over his hips and wrapping his hands around his— _oh fuck._ It happens at the speed of sound and slow motion all at once, somehow, but Castiel has his angelic fucking hand wrapped around his fucking human dick and it takes every fiber of concentration and willpower to not come right then and there. One hand slips over Dean’s cock while the other keeps a tight grip on his ass. He buries his head in the crook of Cas’ neck, panting heavy against tousled hair, back arched towards the roof.

Castiel is lost in the sight. The Michael sword is bucking into his hand, begging him not to stop. Of course he obliges, but not without shamelessly rutting against Dean’s knee, desperate for some sort of friction to relieve this tension. Nothing in his entire existence had made him feel like this before—not even the girl in the room (though not for lack of trying.) Castiel knew Dean was just doing this to fulfil his promise, but that wouldn’t stop him from pretending, even if for a moment, that Dean Winchester was something he could have. For now, Dean was within his reach, offering him his body to touch. Who was he to turn down such a beautiful gift so selflessly given? The only thing that mattered was the Adonis seated on his thigh, green eyes lifted to the sky as he begs for release. “Beautiful,” he whispers against Dean’s buried head, “please come for me, beautiful.”

The praise sends him over the edge, and Dean is coming white hot stripes across Castiel’s hand and chest. The angel’s hand continues to stroke him, teasing his head while his thighs shake from exertion. Dean blushes. Castiel laughs.

Dean, still seeing stars, reaches for a box under the seat and digs out a bottle from the contents. “Always prepared,” he shrugs. Granted, it’s never been this situation before, but “desperately fucking an angel in the Impala” wasn’t on his yearly bingo card. Taking Castiel’s hand in his, he flips the top and coats Cas’ fingers in a generous amount of lube.

Castiel pauses and grabs Dean’s wrist, looking up at him. “Are you sure, Dean? I sense… apprehension.” As much as his body aches for Dean right now, he’d never be able to forgive himself is he went too far and pushed Dean into something he didn’t want to do. Dean leans back over Castiel and presses their foreheads together.

“As if you could make me do something I didn’t wanna do,” he replies, releasing Cas’ hand.

One hand returns to grab Dean’s cock. The other presses a lube-slicked finger against his entrance as Castiel uses his thighs to push Dean’s ass up into the air. “Take a deep breath,” Castiel warns gently. As he begins to stroke Dean’s cock again, he gently pushes his middle finger in, making sure to move slowly as Dean adjusts. There’s a slight burn, but the discomfort fades quickly, replaced by pleasure as Cas’ hands find a steady rhythm together. It’s not long before Dean is pushing back against Cas, surprised to find his voice asking for more. Castiel once again obliges—he’s pushing in a second finger, then a third minutes later as Dean lets out a string of profanity that would make Lucifer himself blush. No matter what direction he moves, sparky fly. He moves backwards, he fucks himself on Cas’ fast-learning fingers, burying them deeper in his ass. He moves forward, he fucks himself into Cas’ warm hand, slick with come and working a steady pace over his way-too-hard cock. And yet somehow, some-fucking-how, it’s not enough.

Dean know what he wants. Dean knows what Cas wants because Cas is rutting up against his knee like a horny teenager. Castiel knows what Dean wants because Dean is still begging for more, crying “Please, Cas, I need it,” against the headrest. Dean can’t think straight. There’s a sudden loss of contact and his body recoils, but the warmth quickly returns as Dean finds himself against completely bare flesh, save the tan trenchcoat now laid out beneath them. “fu-fucking angel magic,’ he stammers out as Castiel’s hands return to their positions and resume their holy work.

“Be good for me, Dean,” Castiel ~~asks~~ commands, and for once, Dean really wants to obey orders. With one move, Dean is straddling Cas’ hips and hovering over his straining cock. This is somehow more frightening than the apocalypse, but damn if he isn’t fucking excited. Maybe this is all some fever dream. Maybe he is hallucinating. Maybe this is all some cruel angel joke or something, who the fuck knows? But when Castiel says, “Be good for me, Dean,” again, followed by, “Be good and sit on my cock,” literally nothing else matters anymore. Cas’ wish is his command. Dean sinks down slowly onto Cas, legs threatening to give out from underneath him because there is no possible way something was meant to feel this good. The stretch of his hole around the angel’s cock and the feeling of being _full_ for the first time is nearly overwhelming. He can’t decide if moving or staying like this forever would feel better. Luckily, he doesn’t have to dwell on it long because after a minute, Cas’ hands are gripping his hips, lifting him up, and dropping him back down as he fucks back up into Dean, and Dean is seeing stars. Apocalypse who? The only thing either of their minds can focus on is the sound of skin slapping against skin and the permeating smell of sex and sweat filling the Impala. The fatigue in their muscles is lost to the need that drives Dean up and down Cas’ cock, drives Cas to thrust sloppily into Dean while sweet praises roll off his tongue.

_Fuck, you feel so good._

_So beautiful when you ride me like this._

_You were worth every speck of stardust._

_So good for me, Dean._

* * *

* * *

* * *

Neither of them will mention the night they spent in the Impala. Dean will carefully clean the seats and wipe the fingerprints off the windows, wiping away any trace of the sacrilege neither of them will have the courage to confront each other about. Castiel will come up with a fake story of what happened with Chastity when Sam teases him about his night. They will bury the hours spent memorizing the feeling of being pressed against one another, the soft kisses, and gentle whispers deep down in their souls under the weight of the belief that neither can have what the other wants. _There’s always an apocalypse to stop. The world is always ending. There’s no point in starting something we’ll be too dead to finish._

_It was just the adrenaline, he didn’t mean it_.


End file.
